An Axe, a Shovel, and a Therapist

The blondes in back are a Buff Orpington and an Ameraucana. They are also sweet little hens. The beauties up front will have to go... eventually.

Nearly eight years ago my sonogram revealed the unthinkable. My little girl was going to be a boy. Sure, I had no reason other than a hunch to believe I was pregnant with a girl, but it made sense to me at the time. I was a girl. I was one of three girls. Of course I would have a girl. 

Several days ago one of my hens crowed and I had the same sick feeling. Impossible! Not one of my beautiful girls!! Sure- my girls are beautiful, and mean, but that's hardly uncommon. My dad had come over not more than a week ago to check and told me he couldn't believe what a bullet I had dodged. What were the chances that of three unsexed birds they'd all be girls? Low, I admitted smugly, and immediately considered naming them. These birds are the spawn of Sasquatch, and they are stunningly beautiful. Teal lights in their black feathers and rich red feather patterns. Enormous- but of course they are half Jersey Giant, so that goes without saying. 

My son ran out to see what the fuss was all about, and I told him one of our chickens had crowed. He pointed. "That one?" "Yes! How did you know?" "Well, if you notice, it's the largest chicken we've got. Plus, the combs are really big for that age. The tail curves, which all roosters have." He shrugged and looked at me with wonder, as if considering whether I was crazy or blind. 

My dad came over and took another look. "Well, Meg, it looks like you've got three roosters, not just one. Wow. What are the chances of all three being male? Those tails weren't there a week ago. What are you gonna do?" 

I had gone from Vegas winner to unfortunate schmuck. 

"I think I'll have to find a farm for them," I said glancing meaningfully at my son and winking furiously.

"Not the same farm where I'm bringing my roosters!" Dad paused. "Oh. That farm."

My son piped up then. "Not a farm! They'll kill them on a farm! Farms don't want roosters! We should let them go free in the wild!"

So I have a lot to think about, but for now it seems I'm going to need an axe, a shovel, and a good therapist. 

This morning the crowing was louder. The clock is ticking, and pretty soon all those male hormones will have kicked in and I'll have three terrifying birds of prey on my hand. I know. I met their father. 

The roosters one week ago, looking like hens back when life was kind and simple.

Very rooster-esque tails. Picture taken this morning.